Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead
by Midnight12reader
Summary: A Post 'Into Darkness' piece. Jim thought that death was more peaceful than this, but peace apparently only comes to those that have the good sense to stay dead. Surviving loss, second chances, and another death defying adventure are the cornerstones of what makes Jim's second lease on life just as memorable as the the first. For if you can't have peace, make war.
1. Awakening

Chapter 1:

Awakening

A.N. I own nothing, merely play with, borrow, and try not to break anything in the process.

A.N.#2. While I am a fan of Star Trek, I am not overly familiar with the canon behind it. I, therefore, apologize for any outrageous or blatant inconsistencies.

_"Let's name him Jim."_

_"I dare you to do better."_

_"…demoted and sent back to Starfleet Academy."_

_"If anyone deserves a second chance, it's James T. Kirk."_

Jim woke to a dull throb behind his eyes, and to a hypo to the neck. Bones, he thought, with a weak smile. I can always count on you to kick me when I'm down. Never the less, the sensation was a familiar one, familiar and safe. He relaxed back into the bed, and thought about just drifting off on the wave of exhaustion that still seemed to plaque him.

"I thought that would get your attention." Well, so much for that idea. He cracked open an eye, only to clamp it shut as the light from the overheads seemed to spear into the back of his brain, increasing the throbbing that seemed to be growing by the minute. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty. I'm a doctor, not a babysitter. And it's time you woke up and start dealing with this mess we're all in." Bones snarked as he prepared another hypo. But Jim could see the black eyes he was sporting in a too pale face, a face that was doing a poor job of masking the relief and happiness he must be feeling. The old softy.

He hissed as the hypo's contents were released into his blood stream, and sank into the bed as the throbbing turned into a pleasant warmth. "Don't get used to it. The good drugs are for those who don't give their best friends heart attacks on a daily basis. I'm getting grey hair, damn it!"

He watched as Bones busied about, checking monitors and updating his chart. "I thought you said you weren't a babysitter, Bones."

"Ha, bloody ha, Jim. What… did you die and suddenly wake up a comedian?" Bones picked up the banter with barely a pause. Only someone who knew him as well as Jim did would notice the effort it cost him not to hitch a breath at the reminder of his latest close call.

"Let me know if you suddenly start to feel homicidal, alright?" Bones jokingly demanded. Yet he couldn't hide the edge to his voice that told Jim that he was more than half serious. Bones went on to explain, "We had to give you that bastard's blood. Lord knows what type of additional crap he had swimming around in it, or what side effects it may have." Bones paused to clear his throat. "Just…tell me if you suddenly start feeling superior to everyone around you and like you're God's gift to the human race, understand?"

"Anymore than usual, right Bones?" jibbed Jim, as Bones picked up a pen light.

"Look here." Bones ordered as he gripped Jim's chin and turned his head to get a good look at his eyes. He clicked the light on and just like that, Jim was back in the bowels of the ship, working to save the family that he didn't even know that he needed. Contemplating the inevitability of dying slowly, and as he had always feared…alone. He jerked his head away from the harsh blue light. "I'm fine, Bones." He assured, as he gently shoved the older man away. At Bones scrutiny, he snapped "You just have to stop trying to blind me. Let a man wake up after death in peace, huh?!" And with that he turned onto his side and closed his eyes, hoping the other man might catch a hint and give him a break for once. Not that that had ever worked on Bones, but…

"Yeah, fine, I can see that." Quipped Bones as he stared at Jim's averted face. "You were out for two weeks Jim; we almost lost you. We had to do three transfusions just to clear your blood of the radiation, and you are still recovering. And lest you forget, you died! Anyone else would be a goddamn basket case, but no, Jim Kirk is fine." Jim's only response was to flop back on his back and glare ineffectively at the ceiling.

Bones' pointed stare soon flicked to the far corner, "Well, you have a visitor. Talk to him, won't you?!" Neither Jim nor his companion knew who exactly was supposed to be talking to whom. "I'm tired of the damn hobgoblin lurking around. Some of us have work to do." Ah, well I guess that answered that. Bones seemed to have reached his limit for the day, and with a snort, marched through the door and out of sight.

"How's my ship, Mr. Spock?" Jim asked softly.

Spock replied in kind, "The Enterprise is currently in space dock, Captain, and has been there for the past 15.7 days. Repairs are currently underway, but the damage was… extensive. Commander Scott is overseeing the repair efforts personally. He, in fact, refused to allow another to touch, as he put it, "his beautiful lady" in your absence. He continues to mention that he was gone only for a period of one Earth day." Spock allowed the small hint of a smile to cross his face.

"And the crew? How many did we lose, Spock?" Spock visibly hesitated. "The doctor asked me to avoid discussing such matters until you had made further steps in you recovery, Captain. He appeared quite insistent." Spock then glanced at the door, as if the doctor would swoop in at that very moment at the prospect of his patient's blood pressure rising. Spock contemplated whether the doctor might indeed have some form of telepathy, with how agilely he guarded the Captain's sick bed, but quickly discounted such thoughts as highly illogical.

"Tell me, Spock." Jim demanded. He turned to face Spock head on. "I'm fine. Now tell me."

Spock's body posture shifted as he finally began his report. His clasped hands went to the small of his back, and he spoke quickly yet assuredly, "Upon your demise," Spock's voice suddenly cut out, only to resume with, "Khan's ship crash landed below our ship. We were able to retrieve him, and Doctor McCoy was able to use his blood to revive you. Lt. Sulu was able to maneuver the ship into space dock, where as I said, repairs are under way headed by Commander Scott." Spock paused to gauge the Captain's emotional state. He knew that the crew's loses would hit him the hardest.

"Due to the loss of hull integrity, and the disruptions caused by the failing of the gravitational sensors, casualties were inevitable. However, evacuation efforts were effective in preventing mass casualties. In addition to your efforts, loses were less than previously expected." Spock reported.

"Damn it, Spock! How many?!" Jim barked.

"Roughly 24.6 percent, sir." Spock finally admitted. Jim turned his head away, and stared vacantly out the window. It was too much; it was just too much and too many. "Without your actions, I calculate that we would have lost another 15.1 percent, Captain, not to mention the additional casualties that would have occurred if the Enterprise had not been able to achieve flight and retreat to a stable orbit." A long pause infused the room. The silence that descended was at the same time companionable yet stifling as it dragged on.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock" Jim's voice lacked all expression as it broke the silence. It was with a bleak expression that he turned to once again face his First Officer. "Now, what mess is Bones talking about?"

*Constructive criticism and or feedback are always appreciated. Please take the time to review.


	2. Doctor Knows Best

Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

Chapter 2

Doctor Knows Best

A.N. A special thank you to Starsinger and elysenjazz for supplying me with my first reviews ever. They were very much appreciated and made getting up the courage to write another chapter just that little bit easier. Again, thank you, for taking the time to make my day. And without further ado...Chapter 2!

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The question reverberated through out the small space between them. As silence once again descended upon the room like a shroud, Spock turned and walked stiffly to the window. It was a not so subtle display, made in an attempt to delay, or somehow avert, the conversation that he could see stretching out before them. His stare turned inward as he gazed out at the grounds below. He did not observe the other healing crew members walking the paths below with family and friends arrayed around them, or the sun that beat strongly against the panes opposite. He merely breathed, and attempted to find the words that needed to be said.

He wished that this moment could have been filled with talk of friendship and the lessons that he had learned, about himself, about them, as he had watched his first and only friend die behind a sheet of glass. That time would come, he would not let such misunderstandings remain between them, but only after they had dealt with the consequences of their last costly adventure. And costly it had been, more so than Jim currently knew.

Jim almost wished that he had the energy to be proud of the fact that he could now so accurately read his usually stoic First Officer's features. _His _First Officer, he couldn't help but think, with a smug grin. Remembering being told that he would have to leave Spock, that he was being transferred to a position under another Captain, made Jim burn with jealousy and remembered despair.

As much as he had been angry at the Vulcan, and his penchant for following the damn rules to the letter; they were a team, he and Spock. They complimented each other, and they understood one another in a way that he hadn't know was possible with someone other than Bones. Spock was even better at calling him out on his bullshit than Bones. They were one of the best command teams in the fleet. Hopefully, he thought, command will remember it this time. And Lord help them if they forget again, he swore to himself.

He gazed quietly at Spock's figure, outlined by the wind and shadowed by the pressing of the sun. He eyed the tense shoulders and the set of his jaw, observing how they appeared to war with his usual mask of cool disinterest that seemed cracked along the edges in the stark sunlight. He searchingly looked at Spock's averted face, and was surprised at what he found. He could see the lines that marred his brow, and the flush of green that on any one else would be cause for alarm. It appeared that Spock was almost as close to being as exhausted as Bones. It only served to make discovering what he had missed in his absence even more pressing, as it was he could feel the worry he already felt at Spock's continued silence grow.

"What is it, Spock?" he quietly demanded. "Talk to me." His tone changed at the end, almost pleading, yet was still wrapped in the firm voice of a command.

Spock was surprised by his reticence to inform the Captain of their current predicament. Delaying any further would be far from logical, he knew. The Captain obviously needed to be informed, his ignorance would not help the situation, and there is no logic to be found in delaying the truly inevitable. However, a small part of him protested, Jim already looked like he was once again in pain, perhaps...

Spock was soon jarred from his thoughts, hearing the curt demand directed toward him, Spock turned swiftly and returned to his previous position beside the Captain's bed. He opened his mouth to speak, "Jim…"

Before he could continue, he heard a pair of distinctive footsteps striding down the hall and rapidly approaching their room. Spock turned his head to look at the doorway just as McCoy bustled determinedly back into the sick room.

"Say goodnight to the hobgoblin, Jim." Bones ordered as he made his way toward the bed. He directed a sneer toward the Vulcan figure that had retreated closer to the doorway at his presence.

"I'm sure he's satisfied your curiosity enough as it is for one day." he stated firmly. Spock returned the sneer with his characteristic blank expression. But Jim wasn't the only one who had gotten good at picking up on the First Officer's cues. Spock's expression was dripping with false protestations of innocence. The doctor was far from fooled.

With one last pointed glare at Spock, which dared him to comment, Bones turned and pulled out a pre-filled hypo that he had had the foresight to set aside during his earlier conversation with Jim, from one of the room's locked drawers. The small wash of resignation and panic that appeared on Jim's face wasn't almost gratifying to see, mused the doctor.

"Now come on, Bones! I need to…" was as far as Jim got before he heard the hiss of the hypo and felt the brief sting to his neck. "No fair, Bones-s." he slurred as he slipped into the deep sleep he had been so valiantly fighting.

The last thing he saw was Bones face, staring at the monitor over his head. He felt Bones' hand slide to grip and encircle his wrist, serving as an anchor as he spiraled down once again into unconsciousness.

Bones stared at the Captain's face for a moment, his fingers reflexively pressing, continuing to check and recheck for a pulse where it lay against his slumbering friend's wrist. His hand slowly slipped to his side as he once again turned from the bed to face Spock, demanding roughly, "What were you thinking, man!" in hushed, and angry tones.

Spock could only watch as the doctor's face began to turn a truly troubling shade of red. "He just woke up from a highly experimental procedure, one that has never even been attempted before. A procedure, by the way, that we still don't know how he is going to respond to, there could be dozens of possible side effects that we can't yet predict." Bones lectured, his voice getting progressively louder.

"He doesn't need a goddamn damage report or to get his face shoved into the fact that he lost a quarter of the crew just minutes after waking up from being dead! You really are nothing more than a goddamned computer, aren't you?!" Bones finished, fists shaking in rage at his sides.

Spock only stared at the doctor impassively. He glanced again at Jim, his face softening minutely. He did not notice the doctor quietly observing him, or the fact that his uncharacteristic display of human emotion in front of the good doctor had had a rather calming effect on the man's temper. He gazed at the still figure a moment longer. He attempted to fix a picture of Jim as he was now, as he laid breathing and sleeping peacefully in the narrow bed, in his mind. He could only hope that such an image would help replace the memory of their last tragic parting. As if he suddenly became aware of the doctor's scrutiny, he abruptly pivoted on his back right heel in an economy of motion that one would expect from a Vulcan, and set a steady pace toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he heard the doctor ask gruffly, before he could fully exit the room.

He turned slowly, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at the doctor's question. He was surprised at the exhaustion that he could now keenly observe on the doctor's face. It seemed that without the Captain's regard, Doctor McCoy no longer had the ability or perhaps the will to hide his present state behind his usual banter and bluster.

"I believe I was accused of 'lurking', as you say. I merely wished to relieve you of my presence. I would not wish to offend your delicate human sensibilities." Spock jibbed.

"And lest you forget, you are not the only one with additional duties at this time, Doctor." he coldly added. He again turned to leave.

"Wait." The doctor made no effort to disguise the slight pleading quality of his tone or the exhaustion that weaved though his voice.

"With his metabolism, I wouldn't be surprised if comes back around again in another hour or two. The idiot doesn't have the god given sense to stay down for long and rest." He stated with a fond smile aimed at said idiot's head. "He'll want you here when he does. God knows why. You might as well stick around. He might be actually be smart for once and stay in bed for if you're here to keep him occupied and out of trouble." He explained with an arch look.

"Well, as far away from trouble as James T. Kirk can stay." He amended with a rusty looking half-grin. "Lord knows, that's what the 'T' should stand for what with his penchant for breaking the rules and damning the consequences. Bastard's giving me grey hair before my time." He added with a fond, yet exasperated air. He snuck a glance at Spock out of the corner of his eye. He watched as the previously tense shoulders seemed to relax from what seemed a painful degree back to his regular sense of rigidity, and those oh-so- human eyes warm again as he registered the olive branch he had attempted to wrap in the invitation.

He glanced away as Spock made his way to one of the visitor chairs placed in a small corner of the room. He seemed to struggle with himself, before finally giving in. As Spock made to sit, he spoke, the words almost getting caught in his throat, "He called for you, you know."

Spock froze, it happened so quickly that if he had blinked, he wouldn't have noticed the blip in the Vulcan's usually graceful movements. It was that small moment of weakness that enabled him to continue. He watched as Spock slowly lowered himself the rest of the way into the chair.

The words seemed to be pulled out of the doctor almost against his will, and with a painful rasp he continued, "He regained consciousness during the start of the third round of transfusions. He was incoherent, barely stable. We had to put him under, so he wouldn't have the opportunity to pull out the tubing and leads… He kept yelling for you to save them. He kept mumbling that you knew what to do. He trusts you with them, the crew. He trusted you to save us. To do what you thought was right. That you would do what needed to be done." the harshly spoken words slowly trailed off into silence.

The words appeared to have no outward affect on Spock, but inside, the void that had appeared after Jim's death in the bowels of the ship, became a little smaller and easier to bear.

"I thought he would want you to know." McCoy uttered into the silence. He cleared his throat to banish the hoarseness that had continued to creep into his voice. The silence stretched on as the doctor finally directed his attention down to the clipboard in his hand, and he went back to updating Jim's chart.

The silence was broken only by the glide of the pen across paper and the occasional turning of a page. Until a hushed voice drifted across the room, "You can't let them know he's awake, Spock. He's not ready yet, I mean, the mental toll alone of coming back from the dead, let alone dying in the first place... they'll use it. They'll use it all against him. You know they will.", the doctor's softly spoken words were pitched only loud enough for a Vulcan to hear. They were infused with the smallest hint of desperation that begged to be contradicted.

The silence dragged on.

"I know." was the bleak response. Neither said it, but they both knew it was already too late.


	3. Marcus

A.N. Thank you to HappytheExceed, Starsinger, and numom1 for their kind words. You're reviews meant a lot to me, so again, thank you. 3

Chapter 3

Marcus

With nothing else to do but wait for Jim to come around again, he quickly finished his marking and escaped the stifling atmosphere that had settled over the room at Spock's bleak reply. He knew Spock was on Jim's side, _this_ time at least, he added spitefully. He had been ready to strangle him when he had heard what the Vulcan had done to Jim.

The look on Jim's face as he had stormed out to find the nearest watering hole like he was still a damn cadet had had him chocking down waves of rage aimed at the green blooded bat. With how far Jim had come, it had been hard to watch the ground crumble around him, leaving him adrift. The Vulcan didn't realize how much the crew, Jim's family, meant to the younger man, and how much losing them would destroy him. His fists clenched at the memory, and the scowl on his face only deepened.

Well, having Spock with them instead of against them for once might hopefully make this whole situation less of a disaster, he grudgingly admitted to himself. But he couldn't help but worry that the kid wasn't going to be able to come through this latest mess smelling like his grandmother's roses. Not like last time.

You only get to play the 'I saved the planet' card once, and they had already used it to get those damn charges dropped and Jim his ship. Not to mention that they didn't exactly save the planet, more like took a chunk out of it, he thought as he glimpsed the hints of the clean up effort still underway though a passing window pane. And if that had been the extent of the damage, he mused, they might have been able to fix this with a good PR campaign and a handy cover story.

No one liked the idea of having to clean house, especially when that house was as complicated and as politically charged as Starfleet. It was one of the main reasons they were up to their eyeballs in goddamn horseshit.

And there was only so much he and Spock could do with Jim stuck in a bed and on the already somewhat rocky road to recovery. Bones was amazed that he had even woken up as early as he had. Anyone else would have been out for at least another week, what with his level of exhaustion and trauma. Another possible goddamn side effect he had to add to the growing list. He was already starting to mentally tally up the number of tests and evaluations he was going to have to submit Jim to when he woke up next.

Jim was going to love it, he mused sarcastically to himself. The damn infant was going to make it twice as difficult as it had to be, he just knew it. That kid was often more trouble than he was worth, he thought with a fond grimace.

As he left the room for a second time, he couldn't help but run his hand over his face and skim his hand through his hair with a rough jerk. The lack of sleep was starting to catch up with him; he was starting to feel more than a little ragged around the edges. He tilted his head to the side, ignoring the dull snap, crackle, and pop that followed.

He was no spring chicken anymore, and the long hours were starting to take their toll. Lord, his head was pounding. He sighed as he started his trek down the long white washed hall. He might as well look in on the rest of his patients. It wasn't likely that he was going to feel comfortable enough to go home when Jim would soon be awake and causing his typical amount of trouble soon. Especially with that damn Vulcan here.

He still had at least twelve crew members located on this floor to check in on. Thankfully, two of his patients had been discharged earlier in the day, to make room for more victims of the crash. But there were also a handful of still ailing crew members dispersed throughout the building, and he needed to check on the before Jim woke up again.

He wasn't about to let some still wet behind the ears resident get their grimy hands all over his patients. Thankfully, those with more minor injuries had been sent home days ago. But Starfleet Medical was still short staffed, and being a senior staff member, he got the privilege of supervising the lot, and dealing with the heavy load of patients and additional responsibilities while he was on the ground and available.

When Starfleet had whored out the command crew of the Enterprise after the Nero Incident, the PR department had unleashed the press to garner as much free publicity as possible. After all, with the loss of so many Academy cadets and professors, Starfleet needed to jack knife their recruitment efforts. Young men and women had flooded through the doors of the Academy, drawn in by the heroism of the famous command crew and the prospect of adventure and a sense of patriotism. Starfleet was now, as a result, just starting to get back on an even keel.

The dorms had gone from being empty tombs stocked with memories of the dead to live epicenters bursting at the seams with idealism. Starfleet was already in the process of building additional housing to hold all of the incoming freshmen as the standing dorms at had already well exceeded their capacities. However, the flood of cadets did little to alleviate the strain on Starfleet Medical.

Few doctors and medical personnel were easily swayed to drop out of the more lucrative private sector to join on for a life filled with space, disease, and the possibility of abrupt and certain death. So as a result, although the classes and other departments were well on their way to recovery, Medical was still stretching itself thin until the next full class of cadets made it through medical training and were able to help with the backlog.

As he turned into his office, he cursed his former preoccupation, as he was blindsided by a handful of blank faced uniforms clogging up his office.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he demanded as he entered the small space, "This is an office, not a waiting area. Those happen to be just down the hall, you can't miss 'em. Big yellow signs all over the damn place. I assume at least one of you can read.", he snarked. He hid his grimace as the four uniform clad figures parted to reveal the tall, lean form situated in one of his office chairs.

"Why, Doctor McCoy, you seem surprised to see me." The middle aged man offered in greeting as he arose smoothly from his chair at the doctor's entrance. His black uniform was crisp, and hugged his lean form, his boots were polished to a dull shine.

"I would have thought to have heard from you sooner, what with our mutual friend's miraculous recovery." He coolly drawled. He silently stepped away from the chair to face the doctor head on.

The shadows cast by the rapidly setting sun, skittered through the window, caught on the sharp edges of his stark features and his pointed jaw, and flashed over his glasses, obscuring his eyes momentarily from view. Bones worked to hide his shudder of revulsion from the man, as his gaze seemed to sweep slowly up and down his form, scanning him from head to toe and coming to rest on the clenched fist at Bones' side.

"One would think you were trying to keep me out of the loop, doctor," he silkily continued," with how hard it has been to get an update from you or your people."

He watched as the doctor slowly fought to regain control, his fist unclenching to hang lightly at his side. With a quick, sharp motion of his hand, the uniforms quietly flowed out into the hallway and the office door was closed with a soft click behind them. The sound seemed to echo in the small space.

The man's head pivoted to maintain his piercing stare, as the object of his scrutiny moved, as if to create as much space as possible between them. Bones skirted past the visitor's chairs in an attempt to circle around behind the small desk. A hand flashed out and snagged the doctor's wrist as he past, the hand tightening reflexively as he attempted to quickly jerk away from the touch.

The man's eyes flashed briefly at the flash of irritation and the hint of fear that the doctor wasn't quite fast enough to hide. He pulled him slightly closer, drawing him in by his shackled wrist.

"What _have_ you been up to, my little healer?" he purred softly into the doctor's ear. His hand slowly stroked the pulse point of his captive's wrist, luxuriating in the racing pulse at the question almost as much as the feel of the smooth skin beneath his fingertips. He merely watched as the doctor jerked away and moved to place the desk between them.

The skin of Bones' wrist tingled in revulsion, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of reacting any further. He eyed the other man as he smoothly retook his former seat in front of the desk and slowly crossed his legs, as if to purposely draw his eye. He couldn't believe the damn nerve of the man. He watched as he sprawled in the chair, his steepled fingers came to rest under the sharp chin. He steeled himself as the cold blue eyes came to rest upon him over the upright tips of his fingers.

"I'm a doctor, not an answering service." He curtly replied. The man opened his mouth to reply, "And even if I was, I wouldn't answer to you, Marcus." He continued, fairly spitting out the man's name.

"Oh, but in this instance, good doctor, you _do_ answer to me. No matter how galling you may find that fact." he smoothly replied, a small smirk briefly touching his lips.

"Lest you forget, I was put in charge of cleaning up Kirk's mess. And as such, I need to be kept fully informed." he ordered, his voice hardening, "Now, how is our young patient faring, Doctor?"

"He regained consciousness for a short while this afternoon." Bones stated through lightly clenched teeth, knowing that he must already have a leak in the department for Marcus DeCarte to be here so quickly after Jim had woken up. And wasn't that just a goddamn wonderful thought.

"However," he was quick to continue, voice flat, "he is in no shape to answer any questions. Visitors are restricted until we have fully evaluated his mental and psychical status." He leaned his hands against his desk, back rigid, as if to add emphasis and more authority to his words.

He paused a beat, "I'm afraid your interrogation will just have to wait, Marcus." Bones stated firmly, his voice lacking any attempt at sincerity or apology.

Marcus slid gracefully from his chair to stand in front of his desk. He leaned slightly over the desk, bending at the hip to bring his head alongside the doctors. Bones stared straight ahead as Marcus once again invaded his personal space, not giving Marcus the satisfaction of backing away. Marcus slightly tilted his head to run his eyes over the doctor's cheekbone and the curve of his neck. He inhaled slowly.

"Two days, doctor, to show I can be merciful when it suits me." He finally murmured.

He abruptly leaned back, only to pivot soundlessly and head for the office door. Bones jerked to his feet, startled at the sudden motion. He could still see the uniforms in the hallway through the opaque partition, silently standing guard outside his door.

Marcus paused before opening the door to look back, "Two days, doctor. ", he coldly reminded.

He moved his eyes over the doctor's form one last time. "I look forward to seeing you again so soon." And with those parting words, he slipped out the door. Bones could only listen as the small group moved further and further down the corridor.

He sat sits down behind his desk, resting his hands on the smooth surface. He slowly pulls himself forward. His hands once again ran up and threw his hair and over his face, scrubbing vigorously. He tiredly leans forward to place his elbows on the desk with his hands firmly cradling his aching head.

His sigh is enough to move the few sheets of paper situated near the top right of his desk. As he exhales, his eyes automatically close. Just a moment, he thinks, just one moment of quiet, and then he'll make another set of rounds before checking on Jim.

_Beep._ A hand slowly lowers and inches across to the console; he doesn't even glance at the screen as his fingers work solely on muscle memory to accept the incoming video com.

A small, brunette woman wearing blue nursing scrubs blinks into being and takes in the doctor's slumped form. She goes on to hesitantly report, "Doctor McCoy, James Kirk is awake." Her tone borders on apologetic.

She abruptly looks away from the screen. The lines on her face shift and tenses, as a small commotion can suddenly be heard in the background. Her tone acquires a sense of urgency as she continues, "And, Doctor? Do hurry." And with that the call abruptly blinks out. Before the screen could go completely dark, McCoy was out of his chair and out the door. He doesn't look back to see the figure quietly slip into his office and just as quietly slip out.

A.N. I have to admit that this wasn't what I had originally planned for this chapter. This chapter seemed to fight me the whole way. As always your reviews are appreciated, so feel free to let me know your thoughts. 3


	4. The Unexpected Commotion

A.N. A special thank you to numom1, elysenjazz, and Starsinger for their continued support, and to DLB48 and Guest for their kind words.

A.N.2. As to the 'Marcus' character many of you referenced, he wasn't meant to link up to the former admiral, despite the common name. I had originally contemplated a AU-ish situation, but discarded it. Either way, as I had written the character to fit the name, changing the name seemed awkward, and so the name stuck. I apologize for any confusion. A last name was added to the previous chapter.

Chapter 4

An Unexpected Commotion

McCoy rushed down the hallway, his rarely used lab coat flaring out behind him as his strides lengthened to their fullest extent without breaking into a panicked run. His mind was already racing light years ahead to the room at the end of the long corridor, filling up with worst case scenarios and running through the very few medications he was able to give Jim's already overtaxed system.

Lord, Jim better not be having another adverse reaction, he prayed, with a moment of wild panic at the thought that was quickly drowned out by the need to focus at the job at hand-keeping Jim alive…again. He'd had enough of seeing the kid's face turn blue, and having to call the code team. They were becoming a rather familiar, and all too unwelcome, sight as of late.

As the buzz of activity at the end of the hallway grew louder and more agitated, only to drop to a hushed silence as medical personnel filed quietly out of the room, McCoy broke out into a run, fearing the worst. He pushed past the nurse who had had the privilege of calling him down to this mess, and two orderlies, only to come to a dead stop at the scene spread out before him.

The room was in complete and utter disarray. It looked almost as if a localized bomb had gone off. A stack of papers appeared to have fallen from a distance only to blanket the floor. Hypos could be seen in a rustled stack in a drawer that had been half-hazardly left open. The drawer below it was pulled out, as if someone had dug through the drawer, and went on to the next when they couldn't immediately find what they had needed.

Another hypo appeared to be abandoned on the small table beside the bed as if it had been discarded before it had even had the chance to be administered. As the last extra body shuffled out, McCoy was finally able to spot Jim amidst the destruction.

With his last dose of medication, Jim should have still been quietly tucked into bed. Which was why McCoy was puzzled and somewhat alarmed, to discover the bed's sheets spilling out onto the floor. His eyes snapped to the pillow discarded along the wall, as if thrown across the room, only to quickly swing back to the empty bed.

His eyes traveled across the empty expanse of bed and down the tangled sheets, to the figure sprawled out on the floor. His eyes widened to see Jim's face pale and beaded with sweat, his breathing ragged enough that he could hear it over his own quiet inhales and exhales in the now starkly silent room. McCoy's breathing caught, and his eyes snapped up to the figure standing over Jim's limp form.

"_What_ did you _DO_!?" his voice going from a strangled whisper to a loud roar, as he hurled himself at the looming figure.

Spock didn't even have the chance to reply. Caught unawares, he offered no resistance as he was physically manhandled into the nearby wall by two white knuckled fists clutching the bunched up fabric of his uniform. Only his quick reflexes saved him from smacking his head against the wall as he was forced back against it. As it was, he lost the breath of air he had taken to try and explain the situation to the doctor upon his entrance.

Before Spock had time to adequately respond, McCoy had already shoved himself away from the disheveled Vulcan and rushed to kneel at Jim's side. Needing the physical anchor and reassurance from his friend, he reached for Jim's neck and face with one hand as he reached for the medical tricorder in his lab coat pocket with another. His forehead knotted with worry, and shoulders tense, he waved it quickly over Jim's still figure. His hand, seeming without his notice, almost naturally moved from Jim's neck to run once, twice through Jim's hair before leaving to activate the freed tricorder.

As he began to read through the gathered data, he snapped at the waiting Vulcan, "Get out. Get out before I _throw_ you out." His voice was cold, and his eyes, as he threw a glance the Vulcan's way, were as cold as ice.

Coolly professional, he motioned the orderlies inside. As the orderlies deftly lifted Jim's body back onto the bed under the doctor's watchful gaze, Spock quietly slipped past and into the corridor. McCoy didn't see the oh-so human eyes uncharacteristically clouded with worry or the almost desperate glance he threw the doctor's way as he passed the prone forms.

He was gone long before the doctor dared to leave Jim's side unattended again.

A.N. A rather short chapter, but it seemed the best place to come to a pause. Enjoy, and as always, reviews are appreciated. 3


	5. Misconceptions

Chapter 5

Misconceptions

A.N. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, and for your continued support. This chapter is for you all.

Jim woke with a sense of déjà vu and a stream of oxygen being pumped into his nostrils. His head was still a throbbing mess, more so than the last time he woke up in medical.

"Why do I feel worse?" he complained, grimacing. "You losing your touch, Bones? I might have to start looking for a new CMO." He snarked, reaching up to pull the irritation away, only to have his hand lightly batted away and the oxygen tube adjusted by a deft hand.

"I thought I was supposed to be getting better, or is the universe just fucking me over again?" he asked without opening his eyes, a smirk dancing at the corner of his mouth, knowing that Bones would be there. He was always there.

"You just couldn't help being the prima donna that you are, Jim. Had to give the medical staff the full Jim Kirk experience." Bones snarked back, coming up and leaning alongside the bed. He cast a glance at the vitals displayed on the wall panel, before meeting Jim's eyes as they finally opened to take in the empty room.

"How's the chest?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like a herd of elephants was dancing on it. God, Bones, what the hell did you do?" Jim demanded, lifting a hand to press against his sternum, massaging his chest.

"You tell me, Jim, what did the damn hobgoblin do to set you off?" And with that, Jim's body jerked as his eyes snapped back to Bones' face.

"Where is he? Where is Spock?" demanded Jim, his hand reaching out and snagging the front of Bones' lab coat, and dragging him closer to the bed. His eyes took on a slightly wild glint.

"I threw him out. What did you think, Jim, that I was going to let that damn Vulcan in here after what he did?" Bones asked, angry and exasperated with the situation.

"Why the hell would you do that, Bones?" Jim asked with a bewildered shake of his head.

His hand began to shake, still clutching at the front of the doctor's coat. Bones reached up and gently gripped the shaking wrist, softly bringing the hand down and back to Jim's side on the bed. The doctor let go after a brief squeeze, as if to anchor the hand in place and reassure himself that Jim was there and in one piece. The doctor gazed down at Jim with a furrowed brow, face radiating worry, only to be tinged by anger.

"Because I left him alone with you for ten goddamn minutes, Jim, only to find you out cold on the floor, and that damn Vulcan was right there in the thick of it. I knew I should have just kicked his ass out to begin with, damn it." The doctor angrily explained, his voice getting slightly louder, taking on a sharp edge as he finished.

"He's not going to hurt you again, Jim." Bones reassured with forceful conviction, "I'm not going to _let _him." His mind flashing back to another time and place, Jim bent back over a console while the damn Vulcan choked him to death. And him just standing there, too shocked to move or even provide a goddamn token protest as his best friend was being murdered right before his very eyes.

"He didn't hurt me, Bones." Jim told him tiredly, his voice edged in sadness and exhaustion. He turned his head slowly to look Bones square in the eye. "He saved me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

4 Hours Earlier:

Jim jerked into consciousness with a choked back scream, his back arching up hard enough to slam his head back into the pillow. He strained, seemingly locked in place for a moment, before collapsing back on the bed, like a puppet whose strings had been abruptly cut. He gasped for breath, tossing and turning with increasing urgency.

He flailed around, lashing out at the sheets that seemed to be strangling him. They started twisting up around his legs and feet, causing him to jerkily pitch to the side. As he heaved himself toward the edge of the bed in a panic, he soon found himself rushing to meet the floor.

He was quickly snatched up by strong arms, and effortlessly placed gently on the bed. Their owner's face swam into view, lips moving. But Jim couldn't hear anything; all he could focus on was the hands holding him in place. In his mind they were as good as steel bars, constricting around his chest, pushing the air out. Making it hard, impossibly hard, to breath.

Jim's breathing began to seize, his body jerking as if suffocating on air. His hands grasped and clawed at his chest, only to reach up and push the hands on his arms away. Uncaring of the voice that he could now hear pleading his name, he strained against their hold. He knew this feeling, had felt it every time that his body had decided to work against him, had decided to once again _not _work. And every time it felt like dying…because it was. And regardless of popular opinion, he wasn't ready to die.

He didn't notice as Spock tore the covers from the bed, letting the twisted sheets flutter to the floor in a shimmery heap. Or as he began to call for medical assistance as his pleas to his Captain fell on deaf ears. He didn't see the medical staff streaming into the room, ordering Spock to lay him down, to try and calm him.

All he felt were the hands on him, hands that a distant part of him recognized, but that his mind was too panicked to interpret. He heaved himself against them, twisting and turning in attempts to break free, stronger than he should be, stronger than he had been before. Before dying…before Khan. The thought had the biobed trilling an alarm, as his adrenaline levels sky rocketed even higher, and his vitals continued to steadily decline.

Hand to hand scenarios came back to him in a hallucinogenic rush, past lessons and countless drills coming to the fore, as he began to truly fight his way free. Jim's movements became more focused, his training succeeding, allowing him to get a few hits in before his wrists were recaptured by a steely grip. The hands that trapped his seemed to burn his very skin. Jim began to shiver, his teeth lightly clicking together.

He was unaware of the pale face above him, as the pleas became more urgent, as the now green tinted lips almost begged for his cooperation, raining down reassurances upon deaf ears.

"Bones!?" He called desperately, hoarsely, chocking as his throat seemed to be closing on the words.

He couldn't …Bones was here. He remembered him being here. He was _always_ here. His thoughts became more and more frantic. 'Where was Bones!?' he thought desperately, mind trapped in a downwardly spiraling loop.

"Somebody get Doctor McCoy, NOW!" yelled an overwhelmed resident, as she frantically dug through a drawer. The orderlies ringed the spectacle, not willing to get between the determined Vulcan and the patient, not without being ordered, at least.

She didn't look to see one of the nurses leave, rushing into the hallway and to the staff terminal. She rapidly measured out a hypo dose, only to discard it after looking at the patient chart. She had never seen so many fucking allergies in a space bound officer. She quickly pulled out another drawer, and loaded a hypo with a dose that the patient could metabolize without coding and signing her death warrant via a pissed Dr. McCoy.

As she turned to administer the dose, the Captain's eyes suddenly seemed to snap into focus, zooming in on her and the advancing needle. Catching the Vulcan by surprise, he broke free with a burst of adrenaline, energy that definitely shouldn't have been there according to his listed stats. He snagged the pillow, hurling it at her, as he used his moment of relative freedom and the small distraction to throw himself out of bed and toward the door.

As she side stepped the soft missile, she watched as the Vulcan's face once again became still and resolute. He deftly turned, snatching the prepared hypo from her hands. She could only watch in amazement as he gracefully and swiftly pivoted only to jab the patient in the neck with the hypo with one hand and grasp him by the shoulder with another. The patient crumpled to the ground under the Vulcan's firm hand.

The activity in the room came to a jarring halt; as the Vulcan slowly lowered his hand, casually tossing the now empty hypo onto the side table with a small clink. The sound seemed to echo in the now silent room. A few of the staff began to exit, realizing that their presence was no longer warranted.

The Vulcan paused for a moment, staring at the prone man, face softening, before slowly beginning to stoop down. No doubt to get him back onto the bed and off the hard floor. However, before the Vulcan could touch the patient, Doctor McCoy rushed through the door. And with his entrance, the staff quickly emptied out into the corridor, but not without seeing the doctor's infamous temper come to the fore.

When the staff was relieved, and as shifts were changed, no one had yet to see the doctor emerge, and were as such unable to tell him what had truly transpired in his absence. To tell him that he hadn't been wrong to trust the Vulcan with his friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As Spock left the Captain's room, he rounded the corner with military precision. As he made the turn that would take him farther away from his Captain, from Jim, his stride became more urgent and his face smoothed out to its more characteristic blankness. He refused to think of it as running away. It was only logical after all, to give the doctor a chance to collect himself.

He was a volatile man by nature, he had observed, over his time spent in the man's company, and especially so where Jim was concerned. It was illogical to be hurt, not that he himself felt such a thing, at the doctor's reaction.

He had hoped, however, that the doctor had softened toward him over the course of their tenure aboard the Enterprise. He had taken efforts to make the doctor more comfortable with his presence. He had thought that the doctor would have gotten over the past, just as Jim had, just as _he_ had, with time. And he had steered clear of the doctor's territory outside of his purview as First Officer, refraining from forcing his presence upon the man.

He could not dismiss the possibility that he had miscalculated. That by avoiding the doctor, he had allowed past grievances to fester and remain unresolved. That by not confronting the man sooner, by not attempting to establish a more congenial relationship through shared bonding experiences outside of set mission parameters, he had failed.

He silently made his way out through the sliding doors. As the doors quietly sealed behind him, Spock paused to gaze at the setting sun, his eyes drawn inexorably to a single window opposite. His mind focused on the room's human occupants, and the activity of a moment ago.

He had never seen Jim act in such a way. He had come out of sleep like a man possessed, manic and afraid. It was as if Jim had been locked inside his own conscious, unable to distinguish between his dreamscape and reality. To see him so _vulnerable_, had shaken the Vulcan more than he would ever admit.

As he continued down the path, strolling slowly, hands clasped behind his back, and lost in thought, his head suddenly cocked to the side a barely perceptible degree. His back straightened, and his movements smoothed out until they seemed to flow together as he wound his way down the path and rounded the last turn only to come to a brief stop. He gracefully stepped up into a small gazebo, now deserted as families left to return home in the wake of the setting sun.

He gazed outwards, watching as the paths slowly cleared, and the last rays of sunlight began to dwindle and fade. As the last haze of day lingered, his head slowly turned to the side, his eyes unerringly turning to the grove of trees on his right, and to the still figure nestled among them.

They locked eyes for a long moment, before Spock deliberately turned away to once again gaze at the setting sun.

He finally demanded, face and voice devoid of all emotion, "To what do I owe your presence?" He waited, his body radiating indifference.

At the continued silence, he turned, asking coldly, "Why have you sought me out..._T'Pring_?"

A.N. As always, your reviews and thoughts are welcomed and appreciated. 3


	6. Temper, Temper

A.N. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review, I cherished every one. And a special thank you to Anna for making my day with her message.

Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

Chapter 6:

Temper, Temper

An expectant air seemed to hang about the room as Jim finished recounting what little he could remember. It didn't take the doctor long to fill in the blanks. Spock wasn't the only one who could apply a little logic. The picture that was beginning to take shape was enough to have a small pang of guilt spearing through him.

"What were you thinking, Bones?!" Jim yelled, forehead furrowing in anger and no small amount of pain.

"That he just saved my life only to sneak in here and take it away? What is your issue, man?" Jim demanded, angrily, hurling the charged words out to hang heavily in the air between them. Jim's face had slowly begun to turn red, as his hand tangled in the once smooth sheets, fisting them in frustration.

He couldn't believe that the two of them were at it again. They were both being so _stupid_.

Bones couldn't seem to shake a grudge lately to spare his life, and Spock was well…Spock. It wasn't like he was going to make with the warm and fuzzies. It was like the two were purposely trying to get him to tear his damn hair out, fighting like two girls over the last pair of red pumps at a shoe sale, but without the eye candy to make it entertaining.

He was sick of it. And he was sick of being used as ammunition between them.

The Old Spock had hinted at some big epic friendship between him and Spock, and the old man seemed to have enough of a soft spot for Bones, but Jim couldn't help but think that maybe that camaraderie just wasn't meant to be in this universe, variation, whatever this was. Maybe it was time to just give up and stop believing in fairy tales, he thought to himself harshly.

God, he was tired. Tired of the fighting. Tired of the politics. Tired of everything it meant and everything it took to be Starfleet's current golden boy, even a slightly tarnished one. The only thing that made it all worth it was his crew and his ship, and both seemed to be slipping out of his fingers, becoming further and further out of reach… yet again.

His knuckles turned white as he clenched the bed sheets tighter, as his teeth clenched together in an effort to hold back, to not fall apart.

"Jim." Bones called sharply, his voice sharp, commanding a response.

Jim's mind continued to spin. He just needed a minute, he thought, just a minute to push it all back, to push it down where it belonged. He was fine. He was _fine_.

"Jim!" Bones called more urgently. He watched with apprehension as the previously green stats on the wall monitor continued their descent, tinting red, and spiking his own heart rate. The damn kid was going to give him a heart attack, Bones thought fleetingly, his mind becoming tinted with worry.

"Jim! Damn it, man, just calm down before you give yourself a heart attack. I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker. There are only so many saves and medical interventions that I can pull out of my ass. Now calm down!" Bones snapped, reaching up a hand to manually monitor Jim's pulse.

"Calm!" Jim scoffed, snapping into focus. He batted Bones' hand harshly away from him.

"How am I supposed to be calm, huh, Bones?!" he retorted sarcastically, a note of hysteria creeping into his voice.

"What do I have to be calm about? My crew is broken, my ship is about ready for the scrap yard, something is going on…something, by the way, that you've all done a great job of keeping me in the dark on." he sneered, frustration and impotent rage flashing across his face, as he continued to vent at the older man.

Bones watched Jim, his face falling into a deeper set frown, and a wrinkle of worry creasing his forehead, as the words seemed to pour out of Jim's mouth like a tidal wave. He couldn't get Jim to articulate this much for his damn psych evals, he marveled exasperatedly.

At this point, he could only wait for Jim to finish, seeing as calming him down with anything short of a sedative seemed unlikely. Something he didn't want to have to resort to yet, he thought with a look at the monitor, and, well, while not good for his blood pressure, him _or_ Jim's, he needed to know where Jim's head was. Not only as his friend, but as his doctor and CMO.

While Jim's situation and his recent trauma, he still couldn't make himself think of it as his 'death', more than warranted a tirade to make his grandmama proud…without further observation and testing the possible side effects of Khan's blood couldn't be discounted-physical or mental.

While he hated to do it, to put his best friend and his behavior under a microscope, he was too much of a doctor to ignore possible symptoms. Catching them might be the only way to keep Jim safe, to keep Jim _Jim._ And, damn it, he had invested too much in the kid to give up on him now.

"And my two best friends can't seem to get their head out of their asses!" Jim finally concluded venomously, before sagging back against the bed, the small amount of energy he had recovered during his forced nap abruptly deserting him.

His eyes clenched shut, shutting out the room and attempting to regain some sense of equilibrium. He couldn't seem to get the room to stop spinning. He began to breathe deeply through his nose, his loud breathing echoing in the quiet room. As Jim's breathing slowed, his hands slowly relaxed amungst the sheets, releasing their tight grip, his fingers flexing slightly to relieve the ache as feeling rushed back into them.

"Your crew is healing Jim, and the only way the Enterprise would be going to the scrap yard would be over Scotty's cold and bloody corpse." Bones stated crisply, warily watching Jim's stats slowly climbing their way back up out of the corner of his eye.

"And you'll be brought into the loop when I say you will." he continued harshly, his eyes locked onto Jim's tense features, his own screaming resolve.

"You're a mess, kid, and you aren't going to do anyone any good until you get yourself back into shape. We can hold it together until then. You may be the Captain, Jim, but that doesn't mean that some of us can't take a turn steering the ship." He stated bluntly, his voice matter of fact, daring Jim to contradict him.

His face softened slightly as he continued, "As for the hobgoblin and me, well, we might mix like hell fire and a damn bucket of ice water, but that don't mean we can't work together."

Bones paused, shuffling his feet slightly, before glancing out the window into the darkness. His hand crept up to rub once, twice at the back of his neck.

"I can admit that I screwed up, Jim." he admitted quietly,his face partially obscured by shadows, "but that's between Spock and me." He continued, once again turning to face the bed, his voice going firm. "We don't need you to hold our hands, Jim."

"You need to fix this, Bones." Jim said quietly, voice once again dripping with exhaustion.

Jim slowly opened his eyes, lolling his head around on the pillow until he was able to fix Bones in his sight once more. He stared at Bones intently for a moment, "_I _need you to fix it.", he finally murmured softly.

They stared at each other, saying what needed to be said without a word needing to be spoken.

Jim's eyes closed on a soundless sigh of relief, as Bones' hand slowly lifted and came to rest gently on his forehead. The remaining tension slowly bled from his body as it relaxed even further into the bed, and as the warmth lingered, his mind grew hazy, as it was pulled further toward sleep. He knew Bones would make it better, he thought with a faint grin, as he quietly slipped under, he always did.

Bones watched quietly, his expression softening even more, as he watched Jim drift off. His thumb idly smoothed out a wrinkle of pain that appeared on Jim's forehead, before his hand smoothly passed over Jim's hair to reach out and deftly adjust the drip.

As Jim's face went completely slack in sleep, and his features lost their pinched appearance, Bones took a small step away from the bed before hooking the nearest visitor's chair with a foot and dragging it closer.

He plopped down, letting out a harsh exhale as he finally got a chance to rest for a minute. He sat in silence for a few moments, staring at the stat monitor. As the stats continued to hold, the light from the monitor cast a low glow throughout the room and across his face. He brought a shaky hand up and rubbed roughly at his face, feeling the stubble catch on his palm.

Before he could give into the urge to simply close his eyes and join Jim in getting some sleep, he creakily stood and shuffled towards the door. He made his way quietly down the mostly deserted hallway, nodding slightly in acknowledgment to the night nurses behind the duty station. It went without saying that he would be informed immediately of any changes regarding the Captain's condition.

As he slowly made his way towards his office to catch up on the no-doubt considerable pile of paperwork on his desk, which had no doubt grown in his absence, he thought with a scowl, he impulsively slipped out through a side door and out into the night. The frigid air quickly wiped any thought of sleep from his body, and served to clear his mind of cobwebs.

He briskly rubbed his arms against the chill of the night, before he made his way further out onto the small deserted balcony. He leaned against the stone railing, as he gazed up and out at the starless sky and deserted paths, enjoying the small moment of peace and quiet.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the distinct click of the side door opening and closing behind him. Quiet, but sure footsteps, closed the distance between the doctor and the silent figure.

A silky murmur, carried on the faint breeze, had the doctor suddenly freezing in place, mind going momentarily and completely blank.

A.N. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated, as are your thoughts.


	7. Intruder

Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

Note: I apologize for the long wait for this chapter. And for the fact that it is completely un-betaed. If you spot any issues please let me know. I got into a writing craze and actually wrote three chapters at once, only to have my laptop crash. Time I got back to it, most of chapters 2 and 3 of my work were gone or 'corrupted'. So, I now know the pain I have heard so many writers express here on . Needless to say, the re-writes have gotten even more angst-y, so it's taken me a while to even it out. But then again, can you really have too much angst?

Chapter 7:

Intruder Alert

Jim woke to the click of the door closing. His body tensed under the sheets, before carefully relaxing, feigning sleep. During his stay, that door had never been anything other than fully open. It was like they didn't trust him alone by himself, or rather Bones didn't. Bones was just too paranoid to leave him unsupervised for long. Bones would have left orders. Orders that were much easier to follow with an open door.

He opened his eyes to thin slits, peeking out into the semi-darkness. His adrenaline spiked as he saw a short figure engaging the rather flimsy door lock and upping the privacy settings for his small med suite using the controls located next to the door. His eyes flickered as the small lights on the panel went from a reassuring green to an alarming shade of burnt orange.

From the individual's darkly clothed form, and rather militaristic movements, it wasn't hard to deduce that they weren't there to change the bed pan.

Wonderful, he snarked to himself. He had told Bones. He had told him that trouble found him, not the other way around. Bones was going to have to eat his words after this was all said and done, he mused with a mental snort.

He watched, body still, as the man-and it clearly was a man, it hadn't been too long since his pre-Starfleet career of bars and booze that he couldn't tell the difference across a dimly lit room. As the stocky figure moved, the light from the bank of wall monitors briefly illuminated his face, highlighting his features. Definitely not here for the bed pan. The nurses here weren't exactly hot, but they weren't as dog-faced as this guy.

God, that was one ugly man. The man's nose had clearly been broken one time to many. It protruded from the man's face at a funny angle, causing the light to shift in weird waves across his angular face, highlighting the rough scar that run down his face and across his lower jaw. Like he had cut himself shaving-with a machete.

Jim suppressed the momentary urge to giggle. Damn meds. Jim took a deep, silent breathe in through his nose. Focus, damn it, man, focus, he could almost hear Bones voice echoing in his head.

Jim had seen enough. Enough to at least make a decent stab at guessing that he was in trouble, or at least not in the good.

He knew the type- soldier boy, through and through. He'd say a good Ole, corn fed Iowa boy, but well-he didn't think 'good' and what was probably about to happen should would go well together. Plus, well, he was living proof that the stereotype was full of shit.

He continued eyeing up the now moving figure, fighting away the desire to tense up and give the game away too soon. Probably follows orders, does his job, keeps his head down, and probably enjoys his work way more than he should, Jim concluded. It was like looking at Cupcakes' Evil Twin.

But the way he moved showed training, more advanced training than your average grunt too, and it was then, as the alarm going off inside his head grew even louder, that Jim knew he was in real trouble. Not the got drunk, passed out, woke up in jail without his pants in trouble, but the oh-shit Bones is going to kill me trouble. Speaking of, where the hell was Bones anyway?

After silently scouting the room, the man made his way quietly to the window. He leaned forward, gazing intently at something across the way. Jim watched as the light from the pathway lamps outside splashed across the small smirk that flashed across the man's face. It made Jim's hands clench under the thin sheets. His blood began to pound faintly in his ears.

The light from outside was slowly obscured and finally winked out as the man deftly drew the curtains shut across the long window, bringing him closer and alongside the bed. Jim remained still, blood continuing to pound, picking up tempo as he saw the weapons the man was sporting.

Jim's eyes slammed shut as the man turned toward him, his body subtly tensing-he hoped, and adrenaline pumping. It took effort to keep his breathing low and controlled as the man continued to stare at his prone form. Jim knew that he was no match against a soldier with a gun in his condition, although it pained him to admit it. Although, hey, he was maturing, accepting his limitations, and all that bullshit…Bones would be proud, Jim thought sarcastically.

He listened intently for any sign of movement, almost jumping as the man suddenly pivoted and walked back to his vantage point by the window. He slowly slitted his eyes open a fraction, watching as the man carefully parted the curtain from the window frame with two hooked fingers. Jim's internal sonar, honed from years of fuck ups, pinged as the man continued to stare out into the semi-dark.

A sense of foreboding took over when the faint light coming through the crease re-illuminated the man's face- showing the small smirk on the man's thin lips and the malicious, greedy glint in his eye. He fairly reeked of self satisfaction and sleaze.

Jim wished that the man was just a creepy perv getting his jollies by courtyard peeping, but he knew that even he didn't have that kind of luck. Plus, with what he was packing, Jim rather doubted the whole peeping Tom scenario.

As the silence grew, and the man remained fixed in place, eyes intent, Jim was thankful for the dark. He readied himself, as the sense of foreboding grew, and the hair on the back of his neck began to rise.

What was going on? Something was wrong, his blood was singing with it, his mind screaming an ever persistent warning at him. He wasn't seeing everything. The damn drugs were still in his system, messing with his head. Damn Bones. And it was with that one thought that everything seemed to click in pace and his adrenaline began to reach altogether new levels. One thought rang loud and clear over the thrumming in his ears- Where is Bones?

He wouldn't have left him completely alone. Not after last time. He knew how his doctor, his best friend, thought. How he had felt, how he _did_ feel. Mama bears had nothing on Bones after one of Jim's fuck ups, and this one had been a doozy. So where the hell was he? And why wasn't he here where he was supposed to be?

He worked hard not to give in to the rising sense of panic, of worry-not fully succeeding. And as that thought that had been at the back of his mind began to grow, creeping its way to the forefront of his mind until he felt consumed by a boiling purpose, one thing became clear-he had to move, he had to move NOW. And as his pulse began to race, his adrenaline levels sparking to dangerous levels, the wall monitor began to trill as the room was suddenly bathed in red light.

Jim flew into action. All matter of surprise was now gone. He just had to move. It felt like he was moving in slow motion as he rolled, the I.V. tearing out of the back of his hand, dotting the sheets with speckles of blood, and threw himself out of bed, using it as a springboard and hurled himself across the room. He was on the man in seconds.

The man had turned sharply at the sound of the alarm. The curtain falling shut as his hand jerked to one of his poorly concealed weapons. Even so, he was still unable to fully turn before Jim was upon him.

Upon reaching the man, Jim slammed his fist into the side of the man's head, catching him by surprise and sending him spiraling into the nearby wall. Jim caught his wrist, smashing it into the side of the window sill until the non-standard issue blaster fell to the floor with a dull thud. Before he could recover, Jim shoved him back into the wall with a hand locked at his throat.

The man's feet kicked out as Jim lifted him, almost effortlessly off the ground, dragging him up by the grip on his neck. As the man's free hand fisted and swung at him, trying to take a shot at Jim's exposed side, Jim quickly spun him by his captured wrist, slamming his face into the side of the widow, the sharp crack echoing in the silent room.

Dazed, the man's struggles weakened. Jim swiftly spun him around again, kneeing him in the stomach as the man sagged. Jim shoved him back into the wall, recapturing his grip on the man's neck and dragging him up the wall one-handed.

He leaned in close, watching with hot, burning eyes as the man began to gasp for air, as his lips slowly took on a blue tint. Jim bared his teeth, holding back the rather alarming instinct to snarl.

Jim watched the man struggle, finding it hard to feel anything but pure rage and a complete disinterest as to whether the man actually lived or died by his hand. As the man's feet slowed, Jim abruptly let go, letting the man's feet drop to the floor and catching him by the front of his shirt as the man sagged forward.

Jim roughly caught him with two fists clenched tightly in the front of the man's uniform, and slammed him back against the wall, pinning him in place.

Jim leaned in close, "What the hell are you doing in here?" he snarled into the man's now pale face, teeth clenched, specks of spit flying into the man's face.

"Talk to me!" Jim spat out.

He pulled the man forward slightly only to slam him back against the wall, his head smacking against the wall satisfactorily. The man remained disgustingly silent.

"Who do you work for?" Jim demanded sharply.

As the red glow coming from the monitors streaked across the man's face as it turned to the side, Jim saw the minute glance he threw at the now ruffled curtains, before he swung out again, attempting to escape.

Jim snarled, letting out a yell of frustration, as he unclenched a fist from the man's shirt, back handing him across the face and swinging it into the man's stomach, causing him to bend in pain and choke out a breath. Still, he remained stubbornly silent.

Enraged, Jim caught him again, knuckles turning white as they fisted in the man's shirt.

Shoving him roughly back into the wall with a firm grip, once, twice... the crack of the man's head slamming into the wall seemed overly loud in the small room.

As the man went limp in his grasp, Jim picked him up slightly only to hurl him into the opposite wall. He fell into a heap on the floor, still. Jim gazed at him for a moment, watching for movement, before stalking to the window. He threw the curtains aside and peered out into the near darkness.

If he hadn't known where to look, he might not have seen the two figures standing on the balcony adjacent. At first, he couldn't seem to drag the image into focus. It was hard to see through the haze that seemed to be covering his vision. He pressed his hands flat against the glass, pushing until his hands began to ache, trying to make sense of what his eyes were picking up in the semi-darkness.

He watched, body tense, as the two figures stood close together. Too close…intimately close. As one of the men turned from his companion to look out over the pathways, Jim growled. He watched, teeth clenched, as one man ran a hand over the other. Mine, Jim snarled to himself, thoughts turning even darker with rage and possessiveness.

When the man behind the shorter figure reached up, locking a hand in the shorter man's hair, Jim's hand's spasmed against the glass. As the shorter figure was shoved into the balcony ledge, Jim snapped.

"Bones!" he yelled. _Mine!_

He slammed his hands against the glass, creating long think cracks across the surface, before using them to push off and propel himself towards the door.

He leaned down as he darted across the room, scooping up the weapon the man had dropped from the floor. Throwing his free hand out, he smashed the locking mechanism, sending out a flurry of small sparks from the small monitor. Determined, he swung around the door, absently noting the lack of personnel as he made his way swiftly down the hall.

…..to be continued.


	8. On the Balcony: Part 1

A.N. I'm alive! And back to writing. Yay! Hate in when R.L. becomes a real F.U.B.A.R. Either way, sorry for the long wait, now on with the show!

On the Balcony: Part 1

Chapter 8

The whisper of shoes against stone had Bones freezing in place. He cursed himself for not only the reaction, but for letting his attention wane enough for him to be taken so by surprise. Jim would be appalled, he thought with a grim smile. He could only blame it on the lack of sleep that had been the norm as of a late, and the fact that he wasn't built for this spy, action hero crap that Jim seemed to fall into as naturally as breathing.

Jim wouldn't let him hear the end of it, McCoy thought, as the possibilities as to his new companion began to run through his mind. His luck, he thought dryly, it wouldn't just be a patient out of bed. He scoffed at the idea of his life being so ordinary. Jim, the brat, had made sure that those days were now far behind him.

He had finally made up his mind to turn and confront the lurker head on, only to tense as two long muscular arms suddenly wrapped around him, causing him to jerk forward and away from the body closing in behind him. He stepped forward, attempting to regain enough space to maneuver, before turning slightly and raising an arm to knock one of the encasing arms briskly away.

His attempt was quickly halted as the man behind him took an abrupt step forward, anchoring him against the stone ledge. His raised arm was quickly captured in a firm grip, and pressed firmly down back into its previous position against the ledge. A masculine chuckle had McCoy tensing further as the breaths ruffled his hair. The anger and affront that he felt at the complete intrusion, was quickly overtaken by alarm and a deep sense of unease.

A patient out of bed, his ass, he thought.

McCoy attempted to twist out of the tight hold, only to have his other hand captured and confined as quickly as the first.

"Hush." Marcus whispered, voice humorous and mocking. Like a spider enjoying how the fly struggled so pitifully in its web.

McCoy stilled, before jerking his wrists pointedly in the tight grasp. Glancing down, he watched as the hands slowly bracketing his own melted away. The near caress made him shiver, as the hands slowly receded to rest besides his own clutching the rough stone, bracketing him in against the stone ledge.

"Marcus." He finally uttered, wanting to get the whole confrontation over with.

The soft chuckle that came from behind him had his features settling into a careful crafted mask of neutrality. He wasn't willing to give the man the satisfaction of seeing him any more rattled than he already was. The melodramatic bastard got off on it too much.

The poorly concealed flinch of surprise that crossed McCoy's features, as a soft breath was exhaled across the nape of his neck, brought a smirk to Marcus' face. Another small chuckle escaped him. The doctor was oh, so fun to play with.

Reaching his limit, McCoy stiffened and made to jerk around, before a soft tisking sound behind him had him hesitating, hands clenching into fists where they rested on the railing. If this was anyone else, he seethed, he would have decked the bastard by now, there'd be a goddamn fist imprinted on his face, but this man…well, he couldn't afford the luxury, no matter how much it galled him.

"What trouble you have caused me." Marcus finally breathed out on a sigh, the doctor's efforts at stoicism beginning to bore him, especially when he knew how deliciously the doctor could behave when riled.

He idly eyed the doctor's still form, taking in and enjoying the doctor's imposed stillness, the implied submission. He pressed his face minutely closer, inhaling the varied scents the doctor exuded, enjoying the mix of man, fear, and barely controlled ire.

As the shorter man's hands fisted further, the knuckles going white in the near darkness, Marcus smirked, eyes darkening in anticipation.

"You said two days." McCoy rejoined. He forced his body to relax, his voice to nothing more than merely casual.

"And I know you're smart enough to count." he continued, ready for Marcus to just get to the damn point. He was getting tired of the games within games, not to mention the lack of personal space, as he jabbed an elbow into the man's lower ribs. He enjoyed the forced exhale that followed, less so the additional step forward Marcus took in punishment.

He was a doctor, damn it, not a space heater. "Back off!" he growled out.

The false bravado was oh, so satisfying, Marcus thought with a slight quirk of amusement at the slight waver in the doctor's voice. And the doctor looked oh, so delicious when cornered, a clear novice to the maneuvering and manipulation at hand. His eyes took on a possessive glint as they eyed the doctor's tense features.

"Now, doctor," he chided, before deliberately pausing, he eased away slightly, not wanting to push the doctor too far...yet.

He drew a hand soundlessly across the stone ledge, brushing his hand tantalizingly against the doctor's closed fist, fingers dancing over the whitened knuckles. He smiled smugly as the fist shook, but remained in place.

"How could I stay away?" Marcus finally continued, voice dripping with mockery and as sharp as a sword.

Marcus couldn't help the slight frown that crossed his features, as the fist jerked away from his touch, falling to rest at the doctor's side.

"By keeping your word, and staying the hell away. Two days, you said. Two days, yet here you are. What happened to all that mercy, Marcus? Too hard for the likes of you?" McCoy replied, a sneer touching his lips.

"Don't test me." Marcus hissed out, his own hand fisting against the stones. "Don't. Test. Me." Each word was ground out as he took a minute step forward, increasing his attempts to intimidate the doctor by his sheer presence alone.

"Did he touch you?" Marcus asked roughly, the words bite out abruptly, almost against his will.

McCoy's hands slackened momentarily in surprise, taken off guard. "What?"

"Did that fucking Vulcan touch you?" Marcus spit out.

Well, I guess his source isn't as good as I thought, Bones thought, as his mind spiraled in slow circles. He became almost giddy in his relief and exhaustion. Not Jim then, not yet.

He openly scoffed, "And what do you care if he did."

"I care just as much about that, dear doctor, as I do about the little excitement you had this afternoon. An interesting development, wouldn't you say? Especially in light of your little experiment." Marcus rejoined, smooth as silk. "The possible side effects should prove…interesting."

McCoy's head whipped around, caught by surprise. He was met by a pair of dark eyes, drilling into his own.

"Didn't think I knew about that, did you?" Marcus continued quietly, raising an eyebrow derisively at the doctor's poorly contained look of surprise.

"You would be shocked, doctor, at what I am aware of…and of what I am capable of." Marcus commented idly, his words dripping with layers of meaning.

His hands momentarily betrayed his outwardly calm demeanor, clutching the ledge tightly for a moment, grounding the palms of his hands into the rough stone. Marcus let the words hang in the air, the rough pull of skin and the pressure of the stone grounding him, calming him. The faint shiver his words provoked was oh, so satisfying.

"They are calling for him, Doctor, as you well know" he said, the 'him' not needing to be spelled out. "and not for another miraculous advancement up the Starfleet ladder." He sneered at the mere thought.

At the mention of Jim, McCoy stilled. A weakness, Marcus thought, and such an obvious one to have…and one so easily exploited.

Noting that he had the doctor's full attention, he gimly continued, "Many are starting to reconsider the usefulness of James Tiberious Kirk, and his place in this latest scandal."

Marcus' mouth twisted, "One of many that he has been involved in since his inception at Starfleet. Many are beginning to question not only his usefulness, but his place in Starfleet, even in the federation itself. He is rapidly becoming more trouble than he is worth."

"Jim Kirk has done more for this federation than all of us out together, including you." McCoy spit out, "He saved the whole damn planet in case you've forgotten, and he exposed that bastard for the lying traitor that he was. He's done more for the federation than most of the Admirals and politicians currently trying to hang him out to dry."

"Has he? Or is that what he would have you believe? Jim Kirk has been the cause or at the epicenter of almost every major disaster over the last two years. It's time to pay the price for all that infamy. After all," Marcus smirked, "fame can be such a doubled edged sword."

"And what does that mean?" McCoy demanded, turning in Marcus' arms to face him fully.

"It means, dear doctor, that more are calling for his head than expected, more than even I had anticipated." He smiled grimly, "And I had anticipated a great deal."

"Which you orchestrated." McCoy muttered under his breath.

Marcus continued, unabated, "The damage he has caused, not only to the city and to Starfleet, but to the Federation in these politically charged times…" Marcus paused to shake his head, for the first time taking his eyes off the doctor to gaze out into the dark.

"One would think he would have learned to keep a lower profile, especially after his recent demotion, but I guess he is simply incapable of thinking through the consequences of his own actions."

He turned his gaze back to the doctor, he leaned and turned, locking eyes with the shorter man. "A pity, really, that mentality of his. Sometimes, my dear doctor, there is such a thing as a no win scenario."

Marcus paused, searching the doctor's features for a moment, a small flash of pity flowing over his features so quickly that McCoy quickly dismissed it as a trick of the light. Marcus looked away, before slowly turning back to the doctor's now pale features.

"And your 'hero'," Marcus drawled out, "almost single handedly brought it about through his own actions. And he will face the consequences." He smiled grimly. "There is no pretty bit of code that can save him this time."

"Ironic, don't you think?" He lifted a sardonic eyebrow, enjoying the flush of temper his words had brought to the doctor's cheeks. He pushed back from the stone railing, finally giving the doctor room to turn and face him fully.

"They can't take the Enterprise away again. It's not a damn yo-yo!" McCoy growled, taking a step forward, invading Marcus' space in turn, hands gesturing wildly. "Just because he is the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, doesn't mean you can treat him like a toddler, taking away his toys every time he does something you might not find altogether agreeable."

McCoy paused, drawing in a deep breath, "We need him in that chair. We need him _period_, and if you can't see that, than you and the Admirals are all a bunch of damn fools." McCoy finally broke, tearing his gaze from the man in front of him, fuming silently.

Marcus chuckled humorlessly.

"It's not the Enterprise that Jim Kirk needs to be worried about."


	9. On the Balcony: Part 2

Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

On the Balcony: Part 2

Chapter 9

_"They can't take the Enterprise away again. It's not a damn yo-yo!" McCoy growled, taking a step forward, invading Marcus' space in turn, hands gesturing wildly. "Just because he is the youngest Captain in Starfleet history, doesn't mean you can treat him like a toddler, taking away his toys every time he does something you might not find altogether agreeable."_

_McCoy paused, drawing in a deep breath, "We need him in that chair. We need him period, and if you can't see that, than you and the Admirals are all a bunch of damn fools." McCoy finally broke, tearing his gaze from the man in front of him, fuming silently._

_Marcus chuckled humorlessly._

_"It's not the Enterprise that Jim Kirk needs to be worried about." _

"What was it that your pet Vulcan said again, hmm?" Marcus murmured softly. He took a small step forward, "Oh, yes…The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few."

Marcus smiled grimly, "How _fitting_."

McCoy's mind raced, thoughts, impressions, feelings making their way through his mind at a dizzying pace. He turned away, walking back to the railing and bracing himself against the wall, hating to give Marcus ground, but needing the space.

Needing the time to think for once, instead of just reacting like a damn fresh behind the ears first year cadet. How closely were they being watched? How much were they compromised? Who couldn't keep their damn mouth shut?

At the thought that it had to be one of Jim's trusted few, his crew, his _family,_ that was feeding _this_ man information, his heart began to ache before turning cold.

He wouldn't let this be the end. He didn't have the knack of pulling crazy no-win scenario defying plans out of his ass, and he wasn't a walking computer, but he was a goddamn genius in his own right. It was time that he, and they, be reminded of that fact.

He began to think, his mind finally clicking into gear, emotions fading away to become inconsequential things, the cut left to bleed in order to handle the gaping wound pouring dark lifeblood out onto the ground.

He went to that place, that barren, but so clear place where decisions were made in the blink of an eye and consequences were far away things. To that place that let him get through his father's illness, Jocelyn, through _his_ death, through it all without blowing his brains out with his Daddy's antique hunting rifle or taking the cowards way out with a conveniently misplaced pre-filled hypodermic.

He might only be a doctor, but he had more than one card up his sleeve. He just needed to buy some more time, more than two days worth. Two days wasn't going to get him very far, not with the way Jim was progressing. He was a doctor, not a miracle worker.

"And what about you, Marcus? Don't tell me you came all the way here to gloat." He chuckled lowly. "Although, that sounds about right for you."

"Gloat? Hardly." Marcus drawled out, feet scrapping against stone as he shifted, body held in place with military precision.

"Than what is it, Marcus? You know I'm not one for games. I'm too damn old for them." McCoy shifted his weight, waiting for the catch. There always was one with Marcus.

"Not a game, doctor…a negotiation."

A derisive snort was his reply. "With you, what's the difference?" McCoy asked in disgust.

Marcus closed the remaining space between them, pushing his body flush against the doctor's. He inhaled sharply as the doctor pushed back against him in surprise.

Marcus roughly latched onto the doctor's forearms, shoving them flush against the stone ledge before he could raise them in defense, locking them in place. He pushed forward, leaning his head solidly against the doctor's, caging him in from head to toe. He quickly transferred the doctor's captured forearms to one strong hand, shackling them in one strong grip.

As the doctor began to struggle in earnest, Marcus caught his chin in a calloused palm, roughly turning it to the side.

"Look!" Marcus demanded sharply, patience seemingly gone.

McCoy froze as his eyes took in the man sized shape in what he knew to be Jim's room.

With the dose he had given Jim, he shouldn't have been able to wake, let alone meander around his room and stand up long enough to star-gaze. Which meant that someone else was in Jim's room, And Jim was in there…defenseless, because McCoy had left him alone, alone and vulnerable.

"Marcus!" McCoy harshly choked out, trying to shake the taller man off.

"That is the difference, Doctor!" Marcus spit out. "A negotiation has consequences, a negotiation has _leverage_." He snarled.

"How many times do I have to remind you! Do. Not. _Test_. Me!" Marcus continued savagely, his grip on the doctor's chin tightening painfully.

"Let me go!" growled McCoy, "Have you lost your ever loving mind?" He began to struggle in earnest, fighting to get free, as Marcus held him almost effortlessly in place.

He jerked as the hand that had captured his chin, tangled roughly in his hair, forcing his head down onto the stone despite his protests. Marcus' grip was resolute; it was if he was being held down by a couple of steel bands, completely at Marcus' mercy.

Marcus enjoyed the way the shorter man struggled against him. The man's loss of control and pathetic sense of desperation allowing him to regain his own prized self control. The doctor was going to be a challenge. Marcus smirked, he had underestimated his own reaction to the doctor and his _fire_. It wouldn't happen again.

"Nothing has been done…yet. Calm yourself." Marcus calmly replied, effortlessly holding the doctor in place, tightening his hold just to watch the doctor stiffen even further.

As the smaller man stilled, Marcus tangled his fingers even further in the doctor's hair, using it as leverage to pull the doctor up and firmly against his front, a parody of a lover's embrace.

"I would urge you to listen to my proposal, doctor. After all, we wouldn't want anything to happen to the dear Captain." Marcus smirked slightly, his face momentarily obscured in the doctor's hair. He inhaled deeply, leisurely, enjoying the shiver it elicited.

McCoy stiffened as the curtains in Jim's room swooshed shut, going rigid as Marcus' lightly rubbed his cheek against his, a mimicry of intimacy and tenderness.

"Are you listening _now_?" Marcus purred out, threateningly.

McCoy closed his eyes tightly.

The small nod he received had Marcus' teeth flashing in the light. He turned his head, tightening his grip possessively, making sure to keep the doctor firmly in place. He placed a glancing kiss on the doctor's forehead, enjoying the shudder it caused.

"Good boy." He smiled smugly, resting his head against the doctor's, staring out into the dark, head filling with plans within plans. "Good boy."


	10. Gone, Gone, Gone

Peace Is For Those That Stay Dead

Gone, Gone, Gone

Chapter 10

McCoy's gaze was locked on Jim's room, eyes darting over the covered window continuously searching for movement, for some clue as to the situation within. His mind raced with possibilities. He barely felt the press of cold lips against his temple, or the warmth that surrounded him from the form practically draped around him. However, Marcus' condescending 'good boy' routine was enough to trigger a response, albeit entirely instinctual.

With a quick jerk born from desperation and indignation, a distracted Marcus lost his grip on McCoy's captured forearms, and with a huff of breathe was driven back by a quick and hard elbow to the ribs. Marcus barely moved, a quick exhale was his only reward, but McCoy couldn't help but feel better nonetheless. He reached up, batting at Marcus' hand in his hair, surprised that it was deftly retracted so easily at his touch.

"What do you want?" McCoy rasped out, winded, as he turned in the man's arms. He glared up at Marcus, growling, "And I'm not a damn dog, keep your hands to yourself if you want to keep them."

Marcus chuckled deeply before replying. It wouldn't do to push the doctor too far, not now. There would be plenty of time in the future for the doctor to learn his place. And how far he could deviate from it. He would let the doctor keep his delusions...for now.

"It's simple, doctor, I want…everything. Everything that Kirk has, his ship, his crew, his _doctor_. And in return, well, he can keep his miserable little life, for as long as he is able. With his track record, he might last as long as a goldfish." he smirked, amused by his own attempt at humor.

"What the hell did Jim ever do to you, Marcus?" McCoy demanded, as he pushed ineffectually at Marcus' chest.

"Nothing." Marcus stated, amused at the doctor's antics. "He's a stepping stool, a mere tool. Nothing more, nothing less. Contrary to popular belief Jim Kirk is not central to every decision made by Starfleet or by myself." he paused, "But what I can gain from him and his…" He glanced meaningfully up and down the doctor's form. "It's well worth the effort, wouldn't you agree?" He leered.

"You're sick." McCoy finally spit out, disgusted, turning back around to continue to stare fruitlessly at Jim's window, heart leaping into his throat at seeing the window coverings now thrown open, the bed empty.

"Hardly a professional opinion, wouldn't you say?" Marcus asked, lifting an eyebrow, "Either way, I'm going to get what I want, everything I want, the only thing that remains to be seen is whether Jim Kirk is going to remain alive after I do. And that, doctor, is almost entirely up to you."

_Jims P.O.V. _

As Jim tore around corners, mind occupied with thoughts of Bones and whatever the hell was going on, he didn't see the thin, black clad man slip out of the shadows behind him.

Preoccupied, he didn't see the second man slide out of the shadows behind the first, making quick work of the thin man. Maybe if he had, he would have been prepared for what would happen next. But he didn't.

However, he did see the bulky man calmly turning the corner in front of him. And if he hadn't been so concerned about Bones, so driven as to be almost completely out of his damn mind, he wouldn't have been so surprised by the man throwing out a hand and catching him firmly across the chest and whipping him around like a frickin' rag doll. Not exactly good for a man's ego.

But he was. And as he came to in another white sterile room, this time without the handy access panel or convenient bank of windows or med cart, he could only curse as he remembered how quickly he had been spun around, disarmed, and hypo-ed. Bones would have been impressed, if not envious. As it was, Bones wasn't going to let him live this down.

And as the thought of Bones kick started his adrenaline fueled what-the-hell response, he surged upward, only to be caught and flung back down by the restraints cinched up and down his prone body. He chuckled weakly. He knew he should have taken Gaila up on that offer. Who knew being too vanilla for an Orion in the sack was going to be such an issue at work?

"Come on, guys! I promise not to kick your asses this time." He struggled, attempting to wiggle his way out with no avail. He hoped it was the same guys, because if they weren't, than he was officially in the dark. Without a flashlight. Up a creek without a paddle. And apparently on some really good drugs...He giggled before snorting loudly.

After struggling fruitlessly for longer than was necessary for him to determine that he wasn't really going anywhere anytime soon, he at least succeeded in fighting through the last of the drugs, if not the restraints. Although after he did almost succeed in wrenching his shoulder out of it's socket testing the restraints, he wasn't really ready to call that a win. It was too bad that these guys, whoever or whatever they were, seemed to know what they were doing. What an unfortunate and unhappy change of pace, he snorted.

After waiting fruitlessly for a reply, Jim began to catalog what he knew, which unfortunately wasn't much. Again.

Probably went hand in hand with being unconscious most of the time. However, while he didn't know much, he did remember a few key facts (genius, after all): Bones was A.W.O.L...again. Some creepy ass military grunt had decided to pay him a visit in the middle of the night. On ugly one on top of it. And then Bones was …Bones!

As the events leading up to his current situation became clear, Jim began to struggle in earnest. He began to yell, god knows what, he couldn't seem to care, it just felt good to do something.

As he continued to struggle, the restraints only pulled tighter, rubbing his skin raw beneath them. But it wasn't like he was going to stop, he wasn't a damsel in distress from some old holo vid, and it wasn't like he was one to give up, he thought with a grin. No one put Jim Kirk in a time out. At least not for long.

"Hey!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, before coughing wetly. "Hello! I'm awake! I'm ready for the part where I have to listen to you talk, and talk, and talk about yourself and how awesome and clever you are."

He shifted, attempting to get a better idea of his surroundings. From what he could see, this was not good. Not good at all.

"Can we start the torture and or unethical medical procedures or mad scientist experiments now? I'm dying of boredom here! I'd like to get on with the rescue and or escape attempts, please!" He laughed sarcastically, if not a little breathlessly, before falling silent, ears straining as they picked up a faint sound from the corridor.

At the sound of footsteps approaching the frosted door became clearer, he smirked.

Now that was what he was talking about. Let's get this party started! A small part of his mind was screaming at him to think, to analyze, to wait it out, but the larger part was on a primal kick to just get on with it. As the door whooshed open, Jim craned his neck to see who came through the doorway.

With a groan, Jim fell back onto the mattress, eyes sliding momentarily shut, before snapping open. "Great", he groaned out, "Just _great_."

His only response was the almost silent footsteps drawing the stone-faced figure to his side. As the footsteps drew closer, the ball of dread that Jim had woken up with continued to grow and spread.

Great. Just great. Bones was on his own for the moment. He could look after himself. Right? _Right_?

As his thoughts were met by nothing but the whisper of a fist through the air, he didn't have much time to fret, before it was lights out once again. His last thought being, 'God, this was getting old.'

A.N. This story will soon be making the switch from a T rating to an M. Most likely with the next chapter, just to be safe. I've known I've been pushing the T rating a bit, at least it feels that was to me, as far as is concerned. So, if you filter, here's your heads up. Otherwise, hope you are enjoying the story so far. Cheers. :)


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